In which, Clive does laundry
by Droce
Summary: ...And finds why Flora chooses to always wash her own laundry.
1. Form a Plan

Professor Layton does not belong to me, nor do any of its characters, settings, and so forth.

* * *

><p>Clive would always do the laundry for the Professor and Luke when he stayed on breaks. With some smooth-talking, he'd be allowed to stay with the Professor on weekends or breaks, to get out of prison, lest he go stir-crazy and find himself in the mental ward again. Flora washed her own laundry, and that was that.<p>

On the one weekend that Clive washed everyone's laundry- to do Flora a favor. It was her birthday, after all, spare her a little work, he reasoned. He paid no attention to what was what, no attention to the textures of fabric, only the colour when he separated and loaded things into the washer or the dryer. When he did notice, he was folding the clothes. (Ironing was just as automatic as separating, really.)

When he did notice the clothes that Flora had avoided letting him or anyone else wash, he understood quite why and had to laugh. It was a gut-busting laugh and he didn't understand quite why , but this wasn't expected _at all. _

Flora, considering how she acted and her childish aesthetics, had some of the damn _laciest_ lingerie Clive had seen in a while. He had seen his fair share of magazines, (What man his age hadn't?) but _damn._  
>For Flora to have such a thing? That was unexpected, to say the least. He expected bloomers or something more <em>modest,<em> at least. But no, these were borderline see-through, made nearly entirely of lace itself.

Luke walked through after a minute of Clive's laughing, thinking that Clive had snapped again, or something of the sort. When Clive explained through giggles and snickers, Luke went to the Professor, who didn't say anything, save for, a typical "You'll know when you're older, my boy."

The Professor didn't bat an eyelash, and Clive had to laugh just as hard when he heard the Professor mumble something with the name _Claire_ in it.

When Luke started poking his arm, Clive looked up and reduced his laughing to giggles, seeing Flora herself in the doorway, with the question of "_Clive, where's my laundr-" _dying on her lips as she saw the older man, doubled over on a stool with a pair of lacy, lacy panties in hand, his face red and chest heaving with laughter.

"Sh- Shit," Clive said, between giggles, as Flora's expression went to something between indignant, pissed, shocked, embarrassed, and _I-will-fucking-castrate-you._ His laughter died when Flora simply walked out the doorway, and he heard her calling out to the Professor,

"Hey, Professor, I'm making dinner tonight. Since Clive's here and it's my birthday."

Her tone was so sugary-sweet, Clive could swear he heard that passive-aggressive malice that her expression held before.

* * *

><p>AN: ...This, I'm not even sure.

I really liked that idea, though, to have Clive laughing his ass off to find that Flora wears frilly lingerie.  
>I think Clive would do laundry as a "Hey, man, you're letting me stay here, it's the least I can do."<br>And Flora would be like, "Bitch, you're not touching my laundry, no way."

It's short, but I think I like how it turned out. c:

...I might make a second part, I don't know. Maybe. If people want me to, I suppose. ;;;;


	2. Start the Plan

I still don't see the rights to Professor Layton in my possession.

So I guess it still doesn't belong to me.

* * *

><p>Clive was learning that Flora really was more unpredictable than what he'd previously thought the last time he'd visited.<p>

Last time, the Professor only let her make sandwiches as a side dish for dinner, and he'd cooked the rest; the Professor was an amazing cook, he'd learned, when Rosa wasn't cooking. Last time, he'd done Flora's laundry and busted a rib laughing at her panties. (Figuratively, although, the look on Flora's face when she walked in looked like she wanted to break his ribs.)

No, no, Flora was quite surprising. When he'd settled in after unpacking the meager things he'd bring from prison and back, (mostly toiletries and small things, books and the like,) he'd come back downstairs to find the girl and Luke huddled around the telly, watching baseball and placing bets. That wasn't exactly unusual, save that he was still adjusting to how much Luke had grown in the three years they'd known each other, the same to Flora.

"TOUCHDOWN!" Luke threw his arms into the air as a player struck a homerun before holding his hand out, grinning. "Gimme my five, Flora." Flora grimaced, handing the younger boy a bill, who pocketed it eagerly. That was yet another thing Clive had to get used to- Luke's _language_ since moving overseas. The boy tended to curse more than Flora would, both only to have the Professor correct them in his usual tone.

"You're still using the wrong term, _Flukiekins._" Clive snickered at the boy's grimace, not wanting to particularly think about that girl from the now-destroyed Underground-London.  
>"Well, Mister <em>Dove<em>," Luke started, fluffing his hair, "It's a matter of preference." Luke flipped the channels, to a documentary channel and walked to the kitchen to make tea. Luke asked her to come in, asking for something mundane. The girl obliged, and hushed talking was heard, not understandable, but the two were talking about something.

A few minutes later, the two came out with a pot of tea, and three cups. Flora insisted he have a specific cup, one with fine powder that Clive overlooked coating the inside. They drank the tea in peace, and the girl spoke of a dress she was planning on making. It'd be ruffled, shades of pink and white- not unlike a maid's outfit. Clive, on the other hand, was starting to feel like he'd been drinking too much. Luke snickered occasionally. Things were hazy and goddamn, Clive felt dizzy. After that, he didn't remember anything but going to bed.

What happened, on the other hand, Flora and Luke resorted to drugging the oldest of the three to get his measurements. He sure as hell wouldn't agree if he was _sober_, so something like a sleeping pill was optimal. The Professor had sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet, (The label was _French_. It sure as hell wasn't his. And, hell, Luke had seen Descole in the house before, it wouldn't surprise him if the man stayed over every now and then.) so those were ground and left to line Clive's teacup.

Needless to say, once he was half- awake, Luke stood to support the man while Flora broke out the measuring tape to measure the man. She was quick and rather precise about it, much like a professional would be, no groping or anything of the sort. Clive was muttering nonsense when the two dragged him upstairs, to his room, and into his bed. The Professor was reading, grading papers and the like, and it was rather late anyway. After a short conversation and some more tea, Luke and Flora both went to bed.

The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully, save for Descole coming over the next day, rummaging through the medicne cabinet, grabbing that French bottle of sleeping pills, and going home- all of this at maybe five in the morning, before Luke and Flora were awake, Clive and Layton watching an early morning documentary about dinosaurs. Other than that, Clive took his leave the next day, back to prison, to come back in four weeks, which Flora said, would be enough time for her to finish the dress she was starting on. He didn't know why, but somehow, Clive had a bad feeling about this dress Flora was talking about.

Four weeks later, he found this hunch of his was precisely right. The dress itself wasn't for Flora at all, but for _him_.

And he was expected to _wear it, _because _"That's what a gentleman does."_ As according to the Professor.  
>(Hell, he was holding back serious laughter saying it.)<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Actually, I really wasn't expecting for people to actually find that last chapter funny. ;;;  
>I always thought myself to have a weird sense of humour; glad to know you like it!<p>

Anyway, yes, I am implying Descole/Layton.  
>I'm working on a fic for that pairing. CB<p>

And yes.

Layton totally digs dinosaurs because of Lando.

There's going to be another chapter, maybe.  
>Depending if someone asks for another. ;;;;;;<p>

And, again, yes, it does take place three years in the future. My headcannon dictates that Flora is only a year and a half older than Luke.  
>My headcannon also dictates that Descole's a total insomniac, but that's beside the point.<p> 


	3. Carry out the Plan

Layton does not belong to me, at all.

* * *

><p>It was your typical Alice in Wonderland scheme. Flora was the pretty March Hare, pocketwatch and tailcoat, bunny ears at the top of her head. Luke was the dormouse, whiskers on his face and ears pinned to his head, looking rather dapper. Layton was the hatter, and he seemed rather pleased. His hat was exchanged for a different tophat today, one with the tag and everything, monocle and tailcoat, not unlike the other two. His collar was popped as it always was, not surprisingly. To an extent, they were all frighteningly in-character, and unsurprisingly, Luke and Layton were chattering incoherently.<p>

It was borderline nightmare-fodder, no matter how good they looked in the get up. Clive had to wonder how in the flying spaghetti fuck Flora had Layton agree to this. Maybe he was drugged and mad on mercury.

Either way, here he was, in the middle of this insanity, wearing a dress.

It wasn't a bad-looking dress, nor uncomfortable- if a little awkward- but it was the sheer fact that it was a _dress. _Black, white, dark blue, and green, and just fluffy enough to bounce. He could swear that Luke had whistled at him when he came down, what with Flora putting all sort of goddamn makeup on him.

Aside from that, this was almost scary.

Layton's hands were shaking, and the grin on his mouth could have split his face in two. He _had_ to be high, he just had to.

Flora was serving tea and her sandwiches- her cooking had improved greatly, now that it was noticed- and this was something else. Luke and Layton were in a heated conversation about something, and the words 'baseball, 'touchdown', 'shut the fuck up', and something about stabbing. No, this was no conversation, it was a full-out argument, and it wasn't hard to tell that Flora didn't plan this at all, what with her shaking and whimpering of, "No, please stop fighting, please. No fighting…"

After five minutes it went to full scale-shouting, with Flora whimpering in the corner, Layton threatening Luke in all sorts of ways, Luke only screaming the words 'baseball,' and 'touchdown' repeatedly, as well as rather random phrases thrown in.

For the two years that he'd been able to take his weekend breaks, he'd never once wanted to go back to Prison again.

Colour today as the first time he'd wanted to go back, to get the hell away from his madness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thus concludes this story!

I hope I'm not the only one who likes the idea of a high Layton. I think it'd be wonderful.

(Yes, I am referencing Malignant! Layton and Luke rather heavily.)

I hope you enjoyed it, thank you for reading!

(Reviews make me think that you're made of magic.)


End file.
